


Horizon

by sisters_of_the_moon



Series: To Be Born [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and go through their memories every day to try and help them grow, and u are their last line of defense before eternal damnation, bc man. can you imagine having to work with the cruelest people to ever live, denathrius helps renathal cope with their responsibilities, either way its all platonic here so, god and creation? mentor and student? the oldest friend the other will ever know?, like waaaay pre-drought, like. the PRESSURE, only to have some fall through the cracks anyways, set pre-drought, shrugs, tagged this as gen idk how to define their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 09:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisters_of_the_moon/pseuds/sisters_of_the_moon
Summary: Horizon (noun) - 1.) The apparent line that separates earth from sky 2.) Where earth and sky seem to meet 3.) The limit of a person's range of perception, capabilities, or experienceRenathal's burdens become too much and he takes a step back to put things in perspective. Denathrius joins him, as it always was.
Relationships: Denathrius & Renathal (Warcraft)
Series: To Be Born [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213271
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> venthyr brainworms are eating me alive

**_Horizon (noun) - 1.)_ _The apparent line that separates earth from sky 2.) Where earth and sky seem to meet 3.) The limit of a person's range of perception, capabilities, or experience_ **

* * *

Renathal had never much liked the lofty heights of the castle. He couldn’t deny the stark beauty that the spires made in their cut across the sky, or the elegance in their ornate design. But in what moments he could call his own, he mostly preferred relaxing in the inns and lodges of the Hopebreakers, or even finding some solace traipsing about the stony underbelly of the Curator’s beloved crypts. Give him the ground, where he could live amongst the quiet peace of the day-to-day. 

But there was an exception. Here, on a balcony that jutted out from the castle’s highest reaches, Renathal could look upon it all and everything became... small. From here the inns and crypts of Darkhaven seemed no more imposing than stones, the wicked expanse of the Chalice District no mightier than bricks. And the sky, sprawling with fog and anima alike, cradled every fledgling building rising from that dark earth. 

For just a moment, he could take a step back and breathe. 

He did just that, sucking the damp, sorrow-tinged mists into his chest. It was cold and clung to his lungs: a miniscule shock to his system. Good. Let him be cleansed, if only for a time.

“How is it?”

Renathal started, swirling around from where he had been leaning on the banister. There, leaning against the vast arch of the bedroom door, was his Sire. 

Denathrius met his gaze evenly; his lips were upturned into an easy smile. Behind him, Renathal could see the rich luxuries of his Sire’s bedroom: crimson silks caressing plush upholstery, glittering gems sitting proudly, adorning it all - tastefully, of course.

“How is what?”

“The air. I’ve been locked inside for hours, some new bickering between the Houses - dreadful. Not a whiff of fresh air. How is it today?”

Renathal took in another measured breath, slow and deep. “Cold. Clear. A bit of sorrow on the wind, but nothing terribly strong.”

“Pity,” Denathrius sighed. He sauntered over to join Renathal and laid a bejeweled hand gingerly upon the railing. “I must admit I am quite partial to sorrowful harvests myself. The most recent set of rituals have produced well enough, but not much of any one particular burden to have that full-bodied flavor I do so crave from time to time.”

“Hm,” Renathal hummed. He returned to his vigil with his Sire beside him. There they stood in silence for a while, just the two of them looking out over all Denathrius had made and all they had shaped. As it always had been, and always would be.

A claw - jet black, immaculately manicured - tapped the back of his hand where it clutched the railing. Renathal glanced over at his Sire curiously. Denathrius’ smile still graced his lips - but his eyes, usually a burning, bloody red, were soft. 

Sadness weaved around him, though not a sadness born of himself - it was a sorrow in kinship, shared. As a Harvester of Dominion, taking care of the caretakers, Renathal was familiar with it. Sometimes, after particularly taxing sessions with their souls’ sins and burdens, he could sense it hanging heavy around the inquisitors like a thick cloak. 

Renathal’s brow furrowed. That meant Denathrius was not grieving for himself, but simply because someone else was -  _ Oh. _

“I’m fine,” He huffed.

“Are you?” Denathrius challenged. “Because as much as I do so enjoy your company, I seem to recall you only retreat to this  _ particular _ balcony when you’ve found yourself in quite the upset.”

“I’m sure those can’t be the only times. I’ve visited your quarters before.”

“Yes, you have. Inside.”

“So?” 

“You don’t like the heights. You only fall back to them when your burdens become too heavy. When you need to step back from it all.”

Renathal sighed. He leaned his weight on the cold stone, dropping his cheek into one hand. “Yes, alright. But don’t pretend you don’t do the same.”

Denathrius chuckled. “There’s no need to pretend. Unlike you, dear prince, I quite enjoy the sky.”

Renathal looked back towards the horizon. An eternal dusk had settled around Revendreth long ago, but the twisting mists were always a bit different every time he looked up. Ever-changing and still the same. Like most things were, Renathal had learned.

“It makes everything seem so small,” Renathal admitted. “For a moment, I get to remember that nothing is quite as great or terrible as it seems down below.”

“Hm, yes. Looking down upon it all, the buildings, the forests - they seem like no more than children’s toys from here.”

That drew a small smile from Renathal. “And what would you know about children’s toys, Sire? Unless there have been some truly devious toddlers in the mortal realm lately.”

Denathrius laughed, the air reverberating from the sounds of his mirth. The mist shimmered around him, and Renathal took a moment to admire how Revendreth itself flowed and fitted around her Sire like a stream. “No, but I’ve heard enough from my sister, who keeps them in good care. The resemblance to their playthings is quite striking from up here, I assure you.”

“I see. I’ll take your word for it, then,” Renathal said.

Another moment passed, though Renathal could not say for how long, and they watched the mists crawl across the mud of the Endmire into Darkhaven. Though the silence was companionable, Renathal knew his Sire would not be leaving this balcony until he relented. He knew it made something inside him bristle.

He also knew to pick his battles.

“I lost her,” Renathal confessed. The words, strained at first, began to rush out of him. “My soul, Illyria, the one from the burning world - I lost her. She succumbed to her burdens during her ritual this morning. Her sinstone, it’s still by the reliquary, I hadn’t the heart to move it to one of the graveyards yet, I promise I’ll take care of it soon-”

A heavy hand clasped around his and he fell silent. Renathal looked up, though he could only make out the very edges of Denathrius through his blurry vision. His cheeks felt wet; he felt fingers gently brushing the tears away.

“Shh, dear prince,” Denathrius shushed him. “I know it hurts. It’s not your fault.”

“How is it not?” Renathal croaked. “I should have better prepared her, I should have given her  _ more _ -”

Denathrius’ hand came down to rest on his neck. His thumb pressed into his skin and massaged in circles, repetitive, soothing. “Your responsibility was to share as much guidance as you could. Her’s was to open herself to it. You offered a hand of mercy, and she did not take it. We can do much, Renathal, but we cannot force their hand. You must accept this.”

“No,” Renathal said, and surely anyone else would have been mortified - and rightly so - for talking back so impudently to their Sire, but Renathal received no reprimand. He didn’t expect to. “No, I know - I could’ve done more, I know it, this happened on  _ my watch, _ Denathrius.”

“We offer a choice. We can hold their hands, we can guide them, but we cannot drag them with us. I say to you, Renathal, I cannot absolve you, for there is nothing to be cleansed.”

Renathal laughed. It sounded pitiable even to his ears. He reached up and stilled Denathrius’ hand, holding it tight. “Could you cleanse me of this sorrow, at least?”

Denathrius’ brow pinched; his lips pressed together into a thin line. “For that you would have to ask my  _ other _ sister. She’s far more involved in the business of casting aside what is difficult for what is easy.”

Renathal’s face fell. He could finally sense a shred of disappointment from his Sire and his heart felt even sicker for it. 

An apology sprung to his lips without a second thought, but Denathrius merely held up a hand. His ruby rings glittered in the dusky glow of the sky.

“Forgive me. My…  _ disagreements _ with Kyrestia can get the best of me. You did not deserve that.” Denathrius admitted, his tone soft. “I sometimes forget the pain of losing souls for the first time. I know it can feel unbearable, but you must bear it. I am sorry. I do not wish undue sorrow upon you, dear prince, but I cannot shield you from grief entirely. As much as I am tempted, it is not our way, nor is it possible.”

“I know,” Renathal wept. “I know, but what do I  _ do? ” _

“What we must. My sister’s gift is letting go. My gift is learning; I offer it to you. Take this pain and know it is inevitable, for Life is a cruel realm, and let your heart be tempered, not hardened.”

With the comforting weight of his Sire’s hand still resting on his neck, Renathal wiped the rest of his tears away, rubbing them into the skin of his cheek. He took a few breaths, deeply, as Denathrius once taught him long ago - when there was only them and the frightful dark, before he had learned to understand it and his Sire came to shape it. 

While he collected himself Denathrius patiently waited, his kind gaze not once leaving him.

“I suppose,” Renathal finally said. “There is a simplicity in inevitability.”

Denathrius smiled then, and Renathal could see the barest hint of fang through his grin. “Yes,” he said. “I learned that a long time ago, after the dawning of all things. I was young, then. I am glad to share it with you.”

Renathal dove forward and wrapped his arms around him, clutching tight. Denathrius did not hesitate to embrace him in return, cradling him in his arms. Despite what his Sire said, Renathal had always felt shielded like this, safe from the relentless flow of cruelties pouring into their realm. 

“I’ll go down with you,” Denathrius promised, tucking himself into the crook of Renathal’s neck. His snowy hair brushed Renathal’s cheek. “When you take her sinstone to the graveyard, I’ll be beside you.”

“Thank you,” Renathal whispered. He drew back, holding Denathrius’ hands in his own. “I think… I am ready now.”

Denathrius nodded, and led him away. Together, they walked back from the distant splendor of Nathria, and descended into their home once more.

**Author's Note:**

> i s2g im taking Heavy inspiration from tolkien here. nienna, a vala/goddess of grief & suffering, pity & courage, who often dwells in the halls of the dead, who turns sorrow into wisdom...? big inspiration. 
> 
> also I CANT CARRY IT FOR YOU, BUT I CAN CARRY YOU- but with vampires of dubious moral fiber
> 
> if u wanna talk venthyr or wow in general u can catch me at dawnblade-disaster on tumblr!


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